Blood Slakes The Sand At The Circus Maximus - Bal-Sagoth

[Thoughts of an Iceni gladiator, awaiting the opening of the arena portcullis:]

[Memories of rebellion (Carnage at Camulodunum):]

[Iceni Messenger:] Hearken! The Ninth Legion has been put to the sword! The
war-Chief of Queen Boudicca: Onwards to Camulodunum... wet your swords!
Redden the earth with Roman blood!

I remember the carnage at Camulodunum...
The glorious clash of Celtic sword against Roman gladius,
The pride in the eyes of our war-queen
As we hacked down the Imperial Eagle,
And the severed heads of centurions gaping atop our spears.

[Bloodshed and Battle: 61 AD (C.E.)]

They had gone too far, these invaders from the east, with their imperial eagle
which they dared to drive into our sacred soil... pompously claiming our
island as their own. They who marched across the world expanding their empire
all for the greater glory of their succession of debauched emperors, reclining
upon their ivory thrones in the heart of sweltering Rome. Aye, they had gone
too far... After their brutal annexation of our sovereign Iceni lands and the
vile rape of our Queen Boudicca's royal daughters, the Romans had the sown the
fields of carnage and they would reap a grim harvest of slaughter, without
doubt! They had enraged the Red Queen, and by the gods, they would pay!
We certainly taught the arrogant invading dogs a lesson, at any rate. The
omens and portents spoke of vast bloodshed and great carnage, and after our
slaughterous victories at Camulodunum (the Temple of Claudius burned
wonderfully!), Londinium and Verulanium, the cursed Romans finally dared to
meet us honourably upon the field of war at Mandeussedum. They sent fifteen
thousand legionaires, their armour gleaming like gold in the sun... but it
would still yield to our swords and spears, no matter how it sparkled.
The Roman scoundrel, Governor Suetonius Paullinus, battle-scarred from his
campaigns against the Druids, was able to choose the ground upon which to make
his stand, and so it was that he selected as the battlefield a narrow valley,
fronted by a flat plain, with dense woodland at its rear. Aye... Mandeussedum,
"the place of the chariots"... I remember it vividly.
The Governor's army looked unnerved as wee took the field. I'll never forget
that, iron Roman fortitude or not! We were one hundred thousand strong,
infantry and cavalry, both men and women warriors, as is our Celtic custom, in
the ranks together, all annointed with woad, all roaring oaths and vows to our
ancient gods, who were surely grimly watching the epic confrontation from
their great thrones and vast halls. Our war-chariots thundered up and down the
Roman front, the charioteers screaming abuse at the grim legionaires,
decurions and centurions, and hurling spears and other missiles which
clattered against the Imperial shield wall. And not one Roman javelin or pilum
was hurled in response, not one arrow was loosed in retaliation. They were
disciplined, I'll give them that. We were swelled by our victories, empowered
by our noble cause, enraged with the battle frenzy; thirsting to take as many
Roman heads as our bright blades could sever!
And yet we were perhaps somewhat overconfident that day...

[Abducted from the Iceni:]

In the aftermath of our defeat at Mandeussedum, I was captured by Romans with
a veile